Ten Thousand Words Never Said
by Erileen
Summary: What if Sam and Dean had Max's childhood? An AU story, with possible spoilers for Nightmare.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form**

**Explanation: This story was written after a challenge that was give at the P.L. Wynter Supernatural Fanfic forums - "What if Sam and Dean had Max (from Nightmare's) childhood?" Just as a warning, this story does contain some violence (child abuse, though nothing too gruesome) and may contain spoilers for Nightmare. **

**Author's Note: This is my first shot at fanfiction, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!**

"But I had _plans _for the weekend, Dad!"

John stared down his younger son…Ham…no, Pam. No…it was Sam. Yes, Sam, that was a ticket. He swayed slightly, staring down his adolescent son. Sam glared back at him. He was newly thirteen, and still on the edge about whether he was enjoying entering the slightly intimidating domain of teenage-hood.

"I don't care, you're coming with me and your brother whether you wanna or not!" John said, his words seeming to slip and flail around like a car on an icy road in the middle of a thick snowstorm. "Dean and I…we hafta have someone. Watching." he said.

Sam glared darkly. "I'm not going with you, I have other things to do."

"Don't speak like that! Don't…" John said, his voice growing deep as he glared.

Sam glared back and turned around, heading for the stairs, shaking his head.

Somehow inside of John that ignited a fire. The harsh words that had been exchanged was the dumping of the lighter fluid, the glaring had struck a match…and now, Sam's turning away had dropped the match, setting of a rapid blaze in the deep pit of John's stomach.

He grabbed Sam by the shoulder, catching his young son off guard and off balance. He slapped him hard across the face, forcing him down to the ground with a kick. Sam backed himself towards the stairs in fear, and tried to brace himself and scoot out of the way at the same time.

* * *

Dean had been standing outside of the high school, putting a charm on for a few lucky women. They giggled in a happy way, clearly enjoying what he was saying. In elation, Dean was about to start finagling them to get a bit to eat with him when he had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Dean, you still there?" one girl asked, smiling a little bit. He seemed frozen on the spot, a funny looking coming over his face.

"Yoo-hoo – Dean?" One snapped her fingers and the others laughed.

"Uh…" Dean said stupidly as he tried to shake the sensation. He couldn't. _Go home, just go home, _a small voice whispered in his innermost conscience. He offered a smile, and then turned to the girls. "Actually, I need to be getting home now…but we can talk about those shakes and fries again tomorrow, alright?"

Some of the girls seem slightly put off as he hurried to where he'd parked the Impala. He got in and sped off, barely even looking as he pulled into the street. What was up with him? He'd probably get home and there would be nothing, and he'd feel more stupid than ever. Hey, those girls hadn't been bad, and they'd been wrapped right around his finger…

Tires screeching, he slammed on the brakes at a red light. Other drivers yelled at him, but he ignored them, drumming his fingers on the wheel and muttering darkly at the traffic light under his breath in great anticipation. The light turned green, and the old clunker in front of him was taking his sweet time with his left turn. Dean groaned; agitated. "Come on man, move!" he yelled, hitting the horn a few times. This seemed to irritate the clunker's driver even more, and he took an excruciating amount of time.

"Jeez, the light's going to turn red!" Dean yelled. Finally the man turned and he sped across the intersection. The funny sort of premonition was still fluttering around in the air close to his head, like an angry moth. He tried to swat at it mentally as he drove, but somehow that only made it angrier.

* * *

Sam tried to hold off his Dad. His nose was bleeding now, and his body was so sore. "Dad!" he cried as the man swung at him again, his fist colliding with the side of his head. "Dad…it's Sam…"

Where was Dean? Of all the days for him not to come home on time after school.

Sam grabbed at John's arm, trying to pin them back. "Stop!" he yelled. John pulled himself away easily, and hit Sam again.

"Don't…don't…!" he searched within his inner being for something to say, but the words never came. Fists worked more magic than dumb words any day.

Sam tried to block his face from another wave of brutality, but his hands did little to defend himself.

_"Where are you Dean?" _his mind screamed. _"Why aren't you here?"_

He didn't hear the tires squeak up the driveway over his cries and pleadings with his father. However, he did hear the front door open and felt a rush of relief flow through him as the front door flew open, along with his older brother.

* * *

Dean's eyes widened as he stepped into the house. John didn't even seem to notice him. He ran up behind his father and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him off of and away from Sam. 

"What are you doing?" he shouted. His father turned his head towards him slightly, and as he exhaled he smelled alcohol on his breath.

Sam was still up against the wall, his face stained with a mixture of blood and tears. "Move, Sammy!" he yelled.

Dean didn't have to tell him twice as Sam got up, dashing away. John ripped back and forth viciously, and Dean lost his grip on his Dad for a second. John grabbed Sam again, pulling him down a few stairs as he had been trying to make a break for the bedroom.

Dean forced himself in between his father and Sam in an instant. "Don't hit him!" he yelled to his Dad, keeping himself in front of Sam, his arms outstretched.

John took a deep breath and shook his head. "He won't…he said –"

"I don't give a damn." Dean said, in a voice mixed with anger and concern and a level of calmness all at once.

John's face twisted angrily as he drew his fist back and punched Dean in the face. Dean reacted quickly, ducking underneath another blow and pushing his Dad backward, towards the sofa. His father collided with the sofa and plopped down on the ground, in a sort of sitting position.

"Sam," Dean yelled as he pushed his Dad to the ground, "go upstairs to your room and lock the door."

"Dean --!"

"Sam, _now." _he barked.

As Sam moved up the stairs, his father pointed to him. "You…you, we're not through! You got me?"

"Don't you hurt Dean!" Sam commanded from the landing. He was trying to sound assertive but his voice shook tremulously and his words seemed quieter than they should have.

"Sam, go upstairs!" Dean yelled again, and watched as his little brother climbed up the last few flights of stairs. Only when he heard the bedroom door close and lock did the growing calamity in his stomach finally cease.

* * *

Once upstairs, Sam pressed himself up against the door for a little while, trying to listen in. He couldn't distinguish any words, just some angry yelling. Finally, he gave up and sat down on his bed. He tried to think but he couldn't. He wanted to go downstairs, to help his brother… 

He watched the sun sink lower and lower behind the treetops and the other houses as he lay in wait. The blood on his face began to dry, to stay there like an angry mask. He remembered learning about Indian tribes and how they always wore masks when they went into battles and wars. He wondered if this was his mask of War, and he wondered if he'd be donning it another time. He also thought about whether his ally, Dean, would be there the next time this ugly mask was forced over his face…

Suddenly, the door opened and Dean stepped in, closing it but not locking it.

Dean made his way over to his bed, adjacent from Sam's, with a sort of stiffness. He sat down, groaning slightly. Before Sam had a chance to speak, he said, "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

"Did you stop bleeding?"

"I dunno."

"Are you really that much of a moron?"

"Yeah, fine, I did." he said.

Dean sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "So, what set him off?"

"I told him that I didn't want to go hunting this weekend."

"You know what, you _really _are a moron."

"He's never gotten that mad before. I mean…"

Dean nodded. "Are you sure that you're okay?"

Sam glanced out the window again. Suddenly, he felt as if he couldn't talk, and he'd never be able to talk again.

Dean stared at Sam, worried. The sadness in his eyes…the tears unshed, the pain from within…the knowledge that this was all different, all the way that it wasn't supposed to be. Dean made his way over to Sam's bed, and raised his hand to give his kid brother a pat on the back. Sam flinched when he saw his brother's hand raise up like that, even though he knew that he wasn't going to strike him…it still scared him. Dean felt like someone had stuck a dagger through his heart, the way that Sammy had cringed like that. He stared at him for a few minutes, and through out the room swirled ten thousand words that someone needed to say, but no one had the courage to speak. Finally, Dean broke the silence.

"Do you want to go clean up first?"

"Yeah." Sam said softly, clearing his throat and standing up. "But…" He felt funny to ask Dean to keep his antenna up for his Dad, but…

Dean smiled a little bit. "Yeah, I'll keep an eye out for you."

"Thanks Dean…for coming." he said, as he stepped out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. The door swung a little bit on its hinges.

"No problem, Sammy…" Dean said, quietly. He smiled and thanked his gut…thanked his sixth sense.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form**

**Explanation: So I lied; the story wasn't a one shot. I hate the John that I have here, but the more I thought about it, the more I loved the story that was brewing up in my head from this. So my love for this plot overpowered my hate for this John. I promise that the next story I write will portray him in a nicer way.  
**

**Author's Note: Thanks so much for all of the reviews from last time; I'm so grateful! As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. **

**Rated for language **

At first, Dean lied to himself. He told himself that he was only skipping out on his last class because Home Economics was a bunch of garbage that he'd never use in life. After his seventh period class, he'd walk down the hall and go through the gym, towards the boys' locker rooms, and out the side door. He'd slip across the back parking lot, keeping a wary eye out for any stray persons, hop over the fence, and walk around to his car, driving home. No biggie. He didn't need to learn how to properly make eggs to become a successful guy in life.

Of course, this didn't have anything to do with the fact that Sam's got home at 2:30, and he normally wouldn't get home until 3:15. Uh-uh – nothing like that. After all, Sam was safe at home – right? He just didn't like Home Ec.

But then the next semester came, and Home Economics wasn't his last class of the day every day – it was a mixture of classes, some that he liked and some that he didn't. But still he found ways to lie to himself, to convince himself that he needed to get home early because…well, there was a reason for it. He didn't need eight stupid classes everyday. But he definitely didn't need to go home just because he wanted to look out for Sammy, because that was stupid. Sammy was perfectly safe…

Until one day in mid January, when he was snaking out the back door like he had for the past few months…he didn't even see the janitor wheeling in the garbage cans as he was starting to hop the fence. "Hey, kid!" he yelled. Dean turned and saw him, angry as he started over. Of course, he didn't look and the ripped bottom of the fence caught the leg of his jeans and his ankle. He swore and let go of the fence in shock. His ankle was bleeding, but that was the least of his worries – the janitor grabbed him by the shirt collar and all but dragged him inside.

That was how he ended up in the assistant principal's office, his ankle slowly dripping blood on the pure white carpet. He smiled a little bit, even though he knew he was up to his neck in shit at that moment. He turned his head as he saw Assistant Principal Felix enter the room, closing the door. He sat down on the other side of the desk, rubbing his temples. "Mr. Winchester…" he said.

"That would be my name." Dean said.

"Sarcasm is not appreciated right now, Mr. Winchester. Now, I took the liberty of looking at your schedule, and apparently your last period teachers haven't seen you around for a while – coincidence there, Dean?"

"So it would seem."

"If you aren't willing to cooperate…"

Dean tuned out Felix as he glanced up at the clock. It was already 2:35 – was Sam wondering where he was? Was his father wondering where he was?

Felix laced his fingers together, placing them on the desk. "Why are you doing it, Dean?"

Why was he doing it? Why was he leaving? I mean, he had PE today. PE wasn't all that bad; there was nothing wrong with it. It wasn't like home economics, it wasn't like that at all…why was he cutting out on that? He wasn't worried about Sam, not at all…he was safe, it was their home…

"Dean?"

Their home was supposed to be a safe place, he wasn't supposed to be afraid to leave his little brother there alone…

"Mr. Winchester, if you are unwilling to cooperate there will be serious repercussions…"

He wasn't afraid to leave Sam alone with Dad, that wasn't the problem at all…no way…He tried to focus on his ankle. The blood was starting to clot, but his skin was stained with redness. The floor was, too.

"Mr. Winchester?" Felix said one more time, his voice sharp.

He looked up all of a sudden, his jaw set. "I'm not afraid to leave Sam alone in my house." he said at once.

Assistant Principal Felix looked a little confused, then shook his head slowly, and spoke with in a wondering tone. "It's good to know you feel that way, Mr. Winchester."

* * *

It was nearly four by the time he got out of there, with a week of detention. "I'm going to be calling your home, Mr. Winchester. Skipping classes is not a matter that should be taken lightly." 

Dean got a little nervous then; not for himself, but for Sam. That was sure to get Dad mad. But all he had to do was get home quick.

"Alright, I need to go…so long." he said, jumping up from the chair and making is way towards the door quickly. Felix nodded as he picked up the phone, dialing.

Shit! Dean sprinted for his car and got in, trying to calm himself down. After all, he wasn't having that gut feeling that something was wrong…yet. _Yet. _

Each minute on the dashboard clock seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, even though only eight went by. He parked the car on a funny angle and slammed the door shut, hurrying up to the front door. He pushed it open and saw…

Nothing out of the ordinary. No scared, white, shaking Sammy, no Dad overpowering him, providing the scare. A nice, quiet living room, a nice quiet kitchen with a few dirty dishes in the sink…nothing you wouldn't see in a typical American household.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the staircase as Sam peeked down. "Dean?" he said, looked scared yet relieved.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

"It's…Dad was looking for you."

"What?"

"I was upstairs in our room, and then the door burst open and Dad came in and he was so angry. He started yelling, 'Dean! Dean!' and then he muttered something. I asked him what was wrong and he told me to stay out of it. He kept saying stuff like, 'I'm going to kill him' and 'Where's Dean?' Then he stormed downstairs, slammed the door, and took off – he started walking. I think he went out looking for you. Dean, what happened?"

Dean felt his knees go a little weak. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, he was definitely looking for you. Dean, you need to get out."

"What?"

"You need to get out of here, Dean. I think he might really…really hurt you, this time."

Dean closed his eyes, thinking for a minute. Finally, he said, "Get your coat."

"What?"

"Get a coat and some clothes and meet me downstairs in three minutes."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We're going, we're leaving. If you aren't downstairs in three minutes I'm leaving you behind."

Sam was utterly confused as Dean hurried downstairs. He threw the pantry opened and reached behind the boxes of cereal to pull out a small paper bag. He reached into it and dumped out some money. Most of it was in coins, but all of it was being saved precisely for this type of moment.

He checked his watch. "Sam, move it!" he yelled.

Sam came downstairs with a duffel bag. "I got some clothes for you too." he said

"Great. Come on, throw that in the trunk of the Impala. Do you have any money?"

"Some."

"How much?"

"I don't know!" Sam cried, exasperated.

"Give me the bag, I'll get this in the trunk and you go get the money – all of it."

Sam took the steps upstairs two at a time, and as Dean made his way to the door he stopped for a second. He turned around and reached for the notepad of the refrigerator, ripping off a piece of paper. On it, he scribbled, _Consider us gone –Dean and Sam. _He tossed the note carelessly on the kitchen table.

Sam came back downstairs. "You ready?" Dean asked him. Sam nodded.

"Get in the car." Sam scooted out the door and Dean took one last look around before he shut the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form**

**Author's Note: Thanks again for all of the reviews, everyone! Sorry for the wait for this chapter - as before, constructive criticism is appreciated. **

** Rated for language  
**  
"So _where _are we going again?"

"Sam, the answer is the same one I had for you twenty minutes ago. _I don't know!"_

Sam sighed, crossing his arms and sliding down in the seat. He blew a piece of his hair up as they cruised down the highway. Dean glanced over at him.

"Don't even think about saying, 'are we there yet?' because I'll kick your ass out of this car so fast –"

Sam smirked a little bit, leaning his head against the window. He knew that his brother wouldn't leave him on the side of the road unless he did something truly awful – like squirting mustard all over the interior of his beloved Impala. And even then, he'd have a hard time with it.

"So," Sam said, deciding to push his luck, "are we just going to drive forever?"

Dean glanced over at him, annoyance crossing his face for only a moment, and then he sighed, "We'll stop somewhere."

"Where?"

"What do I look like, a fricken tarot card reader, Sam? I don't know where, but we'll find the place and stop there."

"What if Dad finds us?"

"That's not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm not going to let him find us," Dean said, "and that's that."

* * *

Dean drove late into the night, and it was ten-thirty when Sam dozed off, his head bumping into the window whenever Dean hit an uneven patch of the road. The beams from the highway light stretched over his face every once in a while, and Dean could see that there was a nick under Sam's eye from the cut under his brother's eye…a cut that his father had given him, a cut he'd received because Dean had failed his brother. 

Why had he waited at school, why had he stayed at school so long? He was talking to a few stupid girls, a few girls who didn't matter. Sam mattered. If he had come home right after school, he could have stopped everything before it started. And maybe if he had come home earlier that day, nothing would have happened and then he wouldn't have needed to cut his last class every day, and he wouldn't have gotten caught and they wouldn't be driving away now, running…

He sighed and glanced over at the clock. It was already quarter after eleven, and he was tired…as was Sam, apparently. His tired eyes searched for a motel, scanning the roadside signs. It was another ten minutes before he found one. He parked and reached down for the money bag, counting up the dollars and cents that he had – money that he didn't anticipate being enough.

Sam had money…he shook his brother awake. "Sam," he whispered, shaking Sam's arm, "Sammy!"

Sam jerked awake, a look of confusion crossing his face for a moment, quickly smoothed over by understanding – and then anger. "What?"

"Dude, I need your money."

Aggravated, Sam dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of money, handing it to his brother. "Happy?"

Dean took the money, counting it in the moonlight…his eyes widened, and he looked up at his brother. "Sam, where in the world did you get this much money?"

"I –"

"Who did you rob? If it was that old blind lady at the end of the street…Sam, that's even low for us. I mean…come on, Sammy, the poor lady is blind and to steal her money –"

"I didn't rob anybody, why would you think that?" Sam said, even more annoyed than before. "I can make money."

"How?"

"Easy – I haven't spent any money. Did a few odd jobs around town, didn't blow the few dollars that the grandparents sent us when we were little and…it all accumulated, I guess."

"Well Sammy, I dub this time the time to start spending." He knocked his brother on the head playfully and then got out of the car and made his way to the back, where he pulled out the duffel bag. Sam got out of his side, rubbing his head, still slightly annoyed at being woken up.

They made their way inside, underneath of a flickering, "24 HOURS" sign. A somewhat sleepy man took their money and then dozed off on his desk, spilling coffee all over. Dean helped himself to one of the room keys and they made their way down the hall and into room A15, flopping down on the beds. They stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

"You know, when I was younger…I imagined this sometimes." Sam said, still staring at the ceiling.

"Imagined what?" Dean answered, casting a glance over at his brother who's eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

"Us…getting away from Dad. You know, just going away one day and never looking back, getting away from him. I wanted to get away from the fear, I guess…the fear of never knowing what he was going to come home like, and if you were going to tell me to hide or –" Sam surprised himself when he felt his eyes starting to fill up. He quickly swallowed and tried to work in a funny remark. "Except, you know, I was five and I thought that we could go become Power Rangers or something."

Dean laughed. "Sometimes I thought about the same thing, Sam – minus the whole Power Rangers thing, though. I thought that we'd definitely be more suited to living on Sesame Street."

They laughed at that together and as Dean shut his eyes and started to doze off, he still found himself chuckling.

* * *

The next morning Dean woke up to a very different little brother, in full-out panic mode. "Dean, what the hell were we thinking? I mean, aren't the school people going to notice that we're gone? Plus, you know, there is that little thing about our _Dad, _unless he got so drop-dead-_drunk_ that he totally forgot he had two sons. He's going to try to find us Dean, and then maybe he really will kill you! We need to cover our tracks somehow. That guy at the desk, did you tell him your real name? Maybe if we get fake identities –" 

"Oh my God, breathe you moron." Dean yelled. Sam stopped for a second. Dean sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Seven."

"Seven? Sam, you have got to be effing kidding me!" He rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head, trying to block out his little annoyance.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. He pulled at his brother's shoulder. "Did you use your real name? Come on Dean, this is _important!" _

Dean sat up, whipping the pillow at Sam's head. Sam yelled angrily, rubbing his head. "If I tell you, will you shut the hell up?" Dean yelled as Sam leaned over to pick up the pillow. He had been planning to throw it at his brother, but quickly reconsidered.

"Yeah." Sam said, pulling the pillow in towards his gut as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, I did." Dean said. "Now let me sleep!" As he started to lie down again, he slowly counted in his head…_5…4…3…2_

"What do you _mean _you used your real name?"

_1._

"You said that you'd be quiet!" Dean moaned.

"He'll find us, we need to go, we need to –"

Anger raged in Dean's chest, and he sat up quickly again, giving Sam a shove off the bed. "Shut up before I stuff that pillow down your throat." he yelled. "Now, let me sleep more and then we'll do something, alright? And I swear to God, if you make a sound I'll kick your ass all the way to…to somewhere." he said, not wasting the energy to thing up a location to kick Sam's ass.

Sam knew that he wouldn't get his ass kicked to somewhere, but he was quiet anyway.

* * *

"Well, thank you for staying with us," the middle aged man who sat behind the check in area said as he took the keys from Dean, "and drive safely." 

"Uh, yeah, the thing is…I have something I need to show you before we go. It appears that the people who were in the room before we were a little…destructive." Sam said, casting Dean a quick smile – of course, they were the ones who had scratched the paint off the baseboards that morning and cracked the mirror in the bathroom. "I just thought that you should know…"

"Oh dear," the man said, sighing.

"I can show you the stuff, if you'd like." Sam offered with a smile. The man nodded slowly.

"Yes, that would be great." They got up and Dean gestured towards the door.

"I'm going to go warm up the car, kid…meet me out there."

"Right." Sam said, leading the man down the hall. Dean started to walk towards the door and paused slightly, listening to Sam small talk for a minute as they walked down the hall, and then the door close as they went in. Dean turned around quickly, hurrying for the desk and going behind it. Records…records of those who had stayed, they had to be somewhere. An old computer sat blearily, and Dean had a feeling that he'd struck gold. He shook the mouse impatiently and…bingo, there it was, labeled in square, bold print clear as day – **RECORDS FOR JANUARY 15**

And there he was – Dean Winchester, his room number, and form of payment. Two clicks and he was gone – the Winchesters had never set foot in this place – at least, not as far as the computer knew.

He then sprinted out to the car, unlocking it and reaching in to honk the horn twice – the signal. Then he got in and sat down, turning the key in the ignition. It was five minutes before he saw his brother walk out, giving him a thumbs up.

"So," Sam said as he climbed into the front passenger seat, "where to next?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form**

**Author's Note: The support from everyone who has reviewed is just amazing...thank you so much, again! I'm sorry for the wait, again - I've been really busy lately, which hasn't given me much time for writing. This is also why I'm backed up on answering private messages and responding to the reviews - again, sorry! Don't eat me and I'll write to you soon, I promise. **

**As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!**

**Just as a warning, there is some violence in this chapter, but nothing too extreme. **

It had been nearly two days of nothing but driving, nothing but moving. They'd stopped twelve times – Sam had been keeping count – six times for food, once to buy some stuff, and five times to use the bathroom. Of course, Dean had found a few places to stop the car so that he could catch a few hours of sleep before driving continuously again…

After these two days of light conversation, Metallica, cheeseburgers, Metallica, counting how much money that had left and just a little bit more Metallica, Dean spoke. He switched off the cassette player and turned to Sam.

"Once I graduated from high school, I was planning to take off for the summer."

Sam looked over from the window. "Thanks for sharing." he said, laughing a little bit. "Are you telling me these experiences so I can complete your biography or something?"

Dean ignored the biography comment. "I thought it would be neat to drive across America – you know, see the country."

"Okay."

"I was thinking…maybe that's where we'll go."

"Across America?" Sam said, laughing a little bit. "You're one crazy –"

"Yes or no, Sam?" Dean asked, starting to get a little bit annoyed.

Sam thought about it for a second. "I always wanted to see this place without hunting involved."

"I'm guessing that's a yes?" he asked, a little more hopeful than he'd intended.

Sam shook his head a little bit. Trust Dean to come up with something like this. But even though he might have been trying to hide it…Sam could tell that his brother wanted to do this. He shrugged his shoulders. "Fine by me." he said. "As long as you're not going to play Metallica the entire time, because it's getting so old…"

Dean switched the cassette player back on, cranking up the volume with a smile. "What?" he said, "I can't hear you!"

* * *

It was driving John crazy. Surely he wasn't going to follow after the boys…what was the point? That's what they _wanted, _he decided one night. They _wanted _him to follow them…yep, that was his boys. Those damned crazy boys. Never know what was good for them, nope. 

Then again…it was starting to kill him. And the more he thought about it each day, the more it annoyed him. They couldn't just take off like that! He was their _father. _They should have more respect than to just…just take off and run away like that! They couldn't do that! Not when John Winchester was their Dad, no way…he was going to find them and drag them back on home again.

Well, at least one of them, he thought to himself as he grabbed the keys to his truck, leaving a half consumed bottle of beer on the table. He started for the door and looked back; reconsidering. He finished the bottle in one swig. "Oh, they're gonna be sorry that they ever left me, yep." he said, smiling and shaking his head as he wiped his mouth and started for the front door, swinging the car keys around his index finger. "Yep…"

* * *

Dean loved driving during the night best. He would switch off the music and Sam would doze off and he'd just…think, usually about the situation at hand. But sometimes his thoughts would lose focus, and memories would slip through his mind, like a slideshow of Time. 

He remembered the first time Dad had ever hit him…it was only a few months after their Mom had died. He was angry because Sam wouldn't stop crying. Dean remembered being slightly annoyed too – after all, he was tired as it was. He'd missed his naptime earlier because Dad had been storming around the house so much, making so much noise, yelling…

He slid out of his bed and across the hall, to Sam's nursery. His eyes widened when he saw John, holding little baby Sam…and shaking him. "Sleep, damn it! Sleep, Sam!"

"Daddy!" Dean had cried; shocked. "Mommy always said to be really gentle with Sammy!" He remembered how his mother had always told him that he needed to be very careful around Sam because he was so little. Didn't she always say not to shake him?

John turned around, staring down Dean. His face twisted in anger, and he shoved Sam back into his crib. He advanced on the little boy, and before Dean could run he slapped him across the face. Dean tried to run but he grabbed the boy's shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Don't…talk…about…her!" he had yelled in a way that made the baseboards of the house shake. He then gave Dean a rough push, towards his bedroom. Dean hurried in and closed the door, flopping down on his bed; crying. He listened to Sam cry the rest of the night, and he felt that he related very well with the melancholy drone.

He had promised himself, right then and there at the age of five, that he'd be more careful. He'd watch out for Sammy, because he wouldn't want Dad to hurt Sam. Ever.

He'd failed his brother on that, he realized again, glancing over at Sam. That nick, that little scar under his brother's eye…it was going to haunt him forever, possibly more than the cruelest of demons that he would ever encounter.

* * *

Sam jolted awake in the early morning hours. He leaned over to check the clock on the dashboard – it was two in the morning. The car was stopped – Dean must've found somewhere to pull over so that he could sleep. 

There was no one in the front passenger seat. Sam turned around blearily, expecting to see his older brother stretched out across the back seat, sleeping.

No one was there.

Determined not to panic, he opened the car door and stepped out. "Dean?" he yelled. There wasn't a bar nearby that he might be in or anything like that. _Where are you, Dean? _He turned around slowly, looking…

Something collided with him from behind. "Ouch!" he yelled, snapping his head around, trying to see who it was – Dean. "Dean, what the hell –"

"He found us."

"What?"

"Dad, he found us Sam." Dean said, his voice a little panicky.

"What…what now?" Sam asked stupidly.

"Hello there boys," a familiar voice said.

"Dad…" Sam looked at his brother, who seemed really scared. He'd never seen Dean scared, not like this…not when he was toe to toe with a leering ghost, not when a werewolf had practically ripped his guts out, not when that phantom had him on the ground, screaming in pain. This was a whole new kind of fear.

"Dad, come on –" Dean said, but his words did little. John attacked, punching Dean to the ground fairly quickly and then brutally hitting him again and again. Sam could only watch, his eyes transfixed on the horrible sight, his feet seemingly frozen into the cold, hard ground – _DEAN. _

"Jesus, Sam!" someone yelled. Sam's eyes opened, and he blinked – they were in the Impala. How were they in the Impala?

Someone was shaking his shoulder. He turned and looked – it was Dean, and he looked…fine. No blood, no bruising…nothing.

Where was John? Where were they? "Where are we?" he asked.

"Pulled over on the side of the road. Sam, what the hell? You stared yelling my name over and over…"

It was a dream. It was all a stupid dream. "Yeah, it was nothing." Sam said. "Just a weird dream."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want to hear the details? It included you dressed in a tutu." Sam said, lying quickly. He wondered how long his nose was.

"Was this tutu particularly frightening, because you seemed pretty freaked out." Dean said, not going to be distracted so quickly.

"Dean, did you hear me? It was _you _in a tutu. _Yes _it was frightening." Sam quipped.

"Bitch." Dean's eyes narrowed, and he pulled on the gearshift, putting the car back in drive as he pulled back into the four steady lanes of traffic. He glanced over at Sam again. The subject was begging to be brought up again, and the words floated around the car but Dean could never grasp them to form them into a sentence.

And ten thousand more words evaded the brothers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form**

**Author's Notes: The reviews - you guys are too good to me, really. Thank you, thank you, _thank you! _Apologies for the wait for this part and for the shortness.**

**Just as a warning - language and some violence in this chapter **

Dean was tired as he stumbled into the motel late at night. Sam was still asleep in the car; Dean was planning on going to wake him up and drag him in when he went back for the bags. Or maybe he'd just leave him in a car all night so he could catch some sleep without dealing his brother's snoring – ha!

The nighttime receptionist gazed at him. "It's a little late, isn't it?" the man asked, yawning. Clearly this motel didn't see many people late at night, defeating the purpose of its checking people in for twenty four hours.

"You had twenty four hours flashing over the place, didn't you?" Dean fought back, tired – too tired to deal with his crap, anyway.

"Good point." the receptionist sighed. "Name?"

"Uh…Dean Winchester." _Ah, shit. _Now he and Sam were going to have to break into the system – again. But he had been too tired to come up with a fake name.

The man snorted as he typed in the name. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." he said.

Dean's brow furrowed. Was it possible that this guy was as sleep deprived as he was? "What…?"

"What is it, a family reunion or something?"

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I mean, it's a common name – not as common as Smith, say, but not as uncommon as, say, Calcauba or something."

"Huh?"

"You're Dad! He is your Dad, isn't he? Just checked in, less than an hour ago, early morning hours. I mean, I'm just guessing that it's your Dad, I'm really not sure, but judging from your physical appearance –"

The guy was babbling about genetics, but Dean's heart was sinking to his toenails. No way. No _way. _

"Here, I'll just go get him for you, nothing like a family reunion, I'll tell you!" the man smiled a crooked grin and then started for the door nearest to them.

All of his muscles seemed to stop, instinct gone, reactions kaput, his breathing even frozen in his chest.

All he could think was, _Run run run_

_

* * *

_Meanwhile, Sam opened his eyes blearily in the car. He blinked, focusing. Where were they? Dean must have pulled over somewhere. He wasn't in the driver's seat – he turned his head. Damn was his neck stiff…hey, that was funny, Dean wasn't there either.

"Dean?" he said, opening the car door and stepping out of the car. "Dean?" he called, looking around. Suddenly, he was hit with a peculiar sensation…_this happened before. _But of course…it didn't really happen. Just in…

His dream. And God, if this was anything like his dream –

He suddenly felt something collide with his back. "Ouch!" he yelled, rubbing his neck, and turning around. It was Dean. "Dean, what the heck?"

Dean looked scared – he was pale, but it was hard to tell just _how _pale he was in the fragile moonlight. "He found us."

"What?"

"Dad, he found us."

Sam's eyes widened. He felt like his tongue had just deflated. This had all happened before, in his dream…

"What…what now?" he said. Those words, they seemed so automatic – and so much stupider the second time around.

"Hello there, boys." the voice said, that same familiar voice…

John stood their, smiling a little bit. But it wasn't a happy smile, and definitely not the kind of smile that was warm or inviting. It was a cold smile, a scary smile.

"Dad," Dean said, and Sam tried to pick up his feet, just to make sure that _they _were still functioning. Thank God – they lifted. At least some of his dream hadn't come true.

"Dad, come on –" Dean said. Something clicked – in the dream, those had been the last words that Dean had said before…

Sam quickly slid in front of his brother as he saw his father start to advance. He held up his hands. "Come on, Dad, listen to us!"

"What's there to listen to?" John yelled. He paced back and forth. "You said everything, boys, without even using a single word! How elaborate of you!" he laughed bitterly.

Dean was trying to stare back into the motel, to flag down some help from the twit of a receptionist –

"Don't even try to get that little idiot of a receptionist," John said, "because I took care of him. Told him to go to bed, that you boys were the only ones coming tonight for our little – family reunion, is that what he said, Dean?"

Dean jammed his fists into his pockets, unable to say anything.

John grabbed Sam by his shirt collar pulling him up so that he was standing on his tiptoes. "Got nothing to say still, Dean?" John said.

"Yeah, I have something to say. If you lay a hand on him I swear I'll kill you, you shit." He felt like someone had just lit a match in his chest.

John stiffened a little bit at Dean's words, but otherwise his emotions didn't seem to show. "Really?" he said. "Will you now, Dean?"

Sam tried to fight against his father, to slip out of his grasp to no avail.

"He didn't want to come, Dad, it was my choice. Just leave him alone, okay? My fault, not his."

John seemed to think it over, and then dropped Sam who buckled over, rubbing his neck. "Okay Dean, since you asked so nicely – I'll get you tonight."

And with that he would up and delivered a sharp blow to Sam's head.

Sam was caught off guard, and fell to the ground, scraping his face on the pavement. He felt someone coming over him and he tensed his muscles, trying to move away.

"Sam, it's me, are you okay?" It was Dean, thank God. Sam looked up and nodded a little bit as Dean tried to help his shaken brother to his feet.

They both turned as they heard a cruel laughing from John. "How sweet. This would make a great movie, you know that? There's one great thing about movies, boys." he smiled. "The bad guy always wins. Take a wild stab at who are bad guy is for tonight."

Dean glared at his father. "You are a one of a kind bastard, you know that?"

"Oh yeah Dean, I know. But hey, like the receptionist said – apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh? I mean, he kept blabbing on about how alike we were, how he knew we were related from the moment that you stepped in the door."

"I will never be like you, because I have a brain. Fancy that."

John swung at Dean this time, who ducked and avoided most of the hit. He tried to retaliate with his own blow but John was quick and it seemed only seconds before he had Dean right where he wanted him – pinned to the ground. He smirked.

"Touché, checkmate, and yahtze," he smiled, "all rolled into one."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form**

**Author's Note: I know, I know...I've neglected to put up the last part for some time now, leaving it on a cliff hanger - sorry, sorry. I've gotten really busy lately. Thanks so much, one last time, for all of the great reviews. I take all of the comments to heart and I've tried to work on a few of the things people mentioned last time...thank you again, everyone. **

**Warning: Language, violence **

Later on, Sam didn't even remember the thought crossing his mind. In fact, he didn't even think that he'd thought about it. In fact, he hadn't quite realized why his knuckles were throbbing. In fact, he almost felt dizzy, and everything slipped in and out of focus for a moment. What the…?

It wasn't until he saw John grabbing at his face that he knew, he realized. He'd just punched his Dad in the nose. Holy shit…could this night possibly get any freakier?

Luckily, the blow gave Dean a moment to scramble up. Damn, his head hurt. He blinked for a moment – the whole parking lot seemed to be spinning. He crumpled to his knees again, bringing his head into his hands, trying to take a few deep breaths. He couldn't black out. Sam needed him.

He finally got up. John was still holding his nose. "Who taught you how to punch, boy?" he asked, wiping at the blood on his face. He was seeing stars.

Sam didn't answer. He looked over to Dean, who was slowly starting to get up. He hurried over closer to him, reaching out and trying to help him stand up, taking advantage of his father's temporary mental paralysis. "Are you okay?"

Dean looked up at Sam, and there it was – the little nick under his eye. The nick that screamed for revenge. He nodded slowly as he stood. "Yeah." he said. He moved over to his father, giving him a shove.

"What's wrong with you?" he yelled in the night, his words piercing through the darkness.

"What are you talking about?"

"You've done nothing but treat Sam like your own personal punching bag for the past thirteen years. He's done nothing but try to please you, nothing but try to make you happy and this is what you do?"

"I raised him! I kept food in the kitchen and clothes on his back." John shouted back.

"Get real!" Sam yelled, moving over. The three of them stood, in a triangle of hatred and anger.

"What?" John said, shaking his head slightly.

_"Get real. _You frolicked off to hunt and left Dean to take care of everything. Dean was the one who raised me."

"You ungrateful like twit!" John yelled, giving Dean a good punch in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind out of him and divert his attention before slapping Sam across the face. "I did what I had to do, alright?"

Sam shook his head, his face still stinging. "You did what you felt like doing."

A kick. A punch. An attempted hit back. It was only a few seconds of fist fighting before John had Sam's arm twisted behind his body.

"What are you doing to do now, make me give you my lunch money?" Sam said, trying to laugh.

John punched him again, causing Sam to groan and his knees to buckle. Dean saw the kid's face contort in pain.

"No…no!" he called. He hurried up, trying to pull his father off Sam. He suddenly felt like he was nine again with tiny, ineffectual fists that were no good for fighting back. _"Let Sammy go, Daddy!" he had screamed. "Stop it! Leave him alone!" _

"Come on Dad, leave Sam alone!" he shouted as he desperately tried everything that he could think, but John's grip was too good on the boy. The man shoved Sam's arm upward causing Sam to scream, and Dean knew instantly what he'd done – he'd popped Sam's arm out of its socket. He'd had his own arm popped out a few times, and he knew the pain well.

Sam could barely breathe it hurt so badly. His chest heaved in an effort to get away. His arm…it hurt so badly. Damn it! He tried to wretch it away and he started to breathe quickly when he realized that he couldn't move it. _Oh, God…_

"I'll call the cops!" Dean cried, suddenly. Anything to get Dad off Sammy…anything. John turned his head towards Dean and stared at him for a while, as if considering slowly what he was doing.

Would Dean really call? After all, John thought, he'd worked his hardest to always present the police in a fearful way to the boys. The cops would only lead to social workers, and social workers would lead to questions, and questions meant foster care, and foster care meant the boys being separated. It was one big shitty chain reaction, he'd said. But as he looked at Dean who was standing over there…

He moved away.

As his Dad suddenly moved away from him, Sam fell to the ground, pain lancing up his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue hard, as if it would somehow reduce his pain. The coppery taste of blood seeped into his mouth, and he felt himself gag.

Dean crouched down next to Sam. "Sam, I'm so sorry…" he whispered, pulling Sam close to him.

"Let's go." John suddenly said.

Dean looked up at his Dad. "Are you really that much of an effing moron?"

"I said _let's go." _John yelled in a way that seemed to silence the Earth.

"We aren't going anywhere!" Dean yelled angrily, his arms still wrapped around Sam.

"I didn't say anything about you going anywhere, Dean. After all, you're eighteen. But Sam…Sam's a minor, and I'm his guardian. And he _has _to come with me." John smiled a little bit. He watched emotion cross his oldest son's face plain as day – confusion, outrage, pain, and finally…submission.

"Give us a minute." he said. John raised an eyebrow in a way that said, _Do you really think I'm that stupid? _"We aren't going anywhere; you can stand right over there by the truck. Just give us a minute." Dean said, frustrated.

John considered for a second, and then stepped over to his truck. He threw the door open and got in, shoving the key into the ignition.

_Bad guy - 1, other guys – zip_

"Give me your arm." Dean said. Sam was staring at the ground, still breathing hard. "I'm sorry about this in advance, kid." Dean said as he took up the limp arm. Sam yelped as Dean manipulated his arm back into place.

"I picked that one up from an EMT." he explained, helping Sam to his feet. "You're going to need to ice that arm."

Sam nodded. "So, have fun on your road trip…"

"What?"

"Send me a postcard or something from…wherever."

"Sam, what the hell are you babbling about?"

"Your cross country road trip. Take a picture or two for me." Sam said, with some bitterness in his voice. Jealously raged deep within the pit of his stomach.

"Hey, Sam…" Dean said, a look of pain crossing his eyes as he came down to eye level with his brother. "You think I'm going to take off on you like that, kid? After everything?"

"Well, you can."

"You know what? I'm coming back with you guys and the minute that you turn eighteen we're springing, got it? Cross country, playing nothing but Metallica."

A rush of gratitude swelled up in Sam's stomach, pushing out the jealousy and tumbling the bitter thoughts and feelings. He felt his voice tremble a little bit as he spoke. "Thank…thank you so much, Dean."

A horn blared, and the boys turned and saw John staring angrily at them from inside the truck.

"You're welcome, kid. See you at home." He started towards his car as he watched Sam start towards the truck. He slammed the door and revved the engine.

Eight words down, nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-two to go.


End file.
